Goin' Solo
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: Weiss's thoughts before his best friend's nuptials--for better or worse.


Disclaimer-Characters belong to J.J. Abrahms. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.  
  
Author's Notes-To borrow from "my other show," this was the product of an evening flight to Cincinnati from San Francisco. It was my chance to "be a poet," as Sam might say. To Double-Oh-Agent Dis, who said I had to write a post-Telling, here it is. Sort of. To Dani, the birthday girl, I wish you all the best with all my heart. To the Cold War, thanks for making me such an espionage junkie, be it with Bond, Smart, or "The Little Blond Guy" (all of whom receive honorable mentions in the following paragraphs, with the disclaimer applying to all). To my family, for the opportunity to expand my horizons, however they may go. And to my angel in Cincinnati, 'cause I know you were there.  
  
Spoilers-Telling.  
  
Feedback-Always greatly appreciated.  
  
Goin' Solo-Weiss's thoughts before his best friend's nuptials-for better or worse.  
  
I can't believe it's come to this. I can't believe he asked that first drastically life-altering question and then a second one that involves me. It shouldn't be so life altering and yet... it is. Because there are some things I refuse to believe. For example: 1.) Elvis is living with Martians. 2.) A "magic bullet" killed JFK--they key to cover ups, to be sure, is credibility. You learn that first in my line of work. And 3.) Sydney Bristow is dead.  
  
Granted, it's been, y'know, a while since anyone's seen her. That's no reason to give up on her. Maybe she's suffering from amnesia, or torture, or... whatever. Maybe she found her mother again and they've spent the past two years catching up on the life they never had. Who knows.  
  
In the two years I've known Sydney, she was usually cool and collected. And, okay, there were times when that was not the case, but I always saw her as Wonder Woman, y'know. Less, of course, the Amazon stature, the red-white-and-blue mini costume and the invisible plane. She's one of the greatest I've had the pleasure of working with. Always kick-ass, always on her game. I always thought one day, long after everything's declassified, tomorrow's generation would go visit the Sydney Bristow exhibit at the International Spy Museum. It'd be by ole Mata Hari, where espionage scholars would compare and contrast their methods and their ultimate successes. Sydney would, naturally, knock Mata Hari out of the running for best female spy thanks to the takedown of the Alliance. On the informational marker in the exhibit, there would be a footnote of Vaughn's and my assistance with a notation to see our exhibit, comparing us to the more fictional Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, Men from UNCLE.  
  
Instead, the great Sydney B is MIA and the man who should've married her is engaged to another woman and I, hapless sidekick that I am--the Illya to his Napoleon--have become best man. With the dubious honor of toasting the grieving groom and clueless bride.  
  
Here's the thing about Mike. In all the years I've known him--and we'll leave the figure at "numerous"--he's always been in a relationship. He dates a girl, they break up for whatever reason, two weeks later? Hello new girlfriend. I'm not saying Michael Vaughn is a player. Far from it. He just gets along better if he's in a relationship. He's not crabby that way, not gloomy. It's just his way of coping with the rejection from someone, or even the termination of an old relationship at his hand. I guess he took the adage "there are plenty of fish in the sea" to heart. So, Mike's not a playboy, he's a good fisherman while I, on the other hand, suck at it. Hence, in this case again: He is Napoleon, lady's man, and I am Illya... who rarely got the girl. However, it's here that that he is Illya to my Napoleon as well. Illya was the skinny sex symbol. Napoleon... was not as slight as his partner in anti-crime. Maybe his stockiness was just because of the near constant scenes with his inseparable partner... or because Napoleon's alter ego, actor Robert Vaughn, liked to eat, as do I.  
  
But Napoleon always had the girls and Illya... Well, he sang with Nancy Sinatra once, so that's something, right?  
  
Unfortunately, none of that is helping me write a toast for my best pal. Because the only words coming to mind are these:  
  
Mike... Karen... I object. You think this is right, that this is what you want when, in reality, your girl is still out there, Mike. Someday, we'll find her. And someday you're going to kick yourself for this because, in your heart of hearts, you know she was the one. The one worth fighting for. How many times did we sit on stakeouts or on the longest of international flights and talk about our dream girls? We spent years talking about the differences in Ms. Right and Ms. Right Now. And how Ms. Right would be forever. With kids. A two-car garage and a thirty- year mortgage. Karen is Ms. Right Now. Ms. You'll Do Till Ms. Right Comes Back into my Life. And I'm sure it'll be as suddenly and as oddly as she entered it the first time. And, for that matter, how she left it. I wanted to share this day with you and Sydney. Because you two gave me hope in my as-yet fruitless search for Ms. Right. But what did you do? You gave up. You turned your back. You allowed Kendall and Jack to close the file on Sydney. You didn't fight for her like I'm sure she's fighting for you. I have never been more disgusted with you in my whole life, Mike. Never. And now you expect me to participate in this joyous occasion so you can stand in front of God and everybody and declare the search and rescue of your love over? Forget it. Syd'll come back. And when she does, I'll stand by you then. When you marry Sydney.  
  
Not exactly inspiring words for a wedding, are they? But he told me she was never coming back. He said it'd never work because her mom killed his dad.  
  
I wanted to scream at him. "Did you learn nothing from Bond? Never say Never Again! She's the Spy Who Loved you! You're not supposed Live and Let Die when she may not be dead! Okay, so her mother killed your father... She's From Russia, with Love! It's the with love part that matters! Don't be Dr. No, Get Smart!"  
  
Okay, so I changed from spy movies to spy TV, sue me. You don't mess with fate, brother, the Almighty gets upset with that. And so do I! The guy you've called your best friend for years.  
  
I guess that's it. I work in shadows enough that I shouldn't have to at my best friend's wedding. That's sacred and you don't mess with that. Ever. This may end the partnership of Vaughn and Weiss here and now, but y'know what? So be it.  
  
Looks like Mr. Solo really will be solo.  
  
End. 


End file.
